still only mean pecuniary support--I must again reject it.--Trifling
are the ills of poverty in the scale of my misfortunes.--God bless you!

* * * *

I have been treated ungenerously--if I understand what is
generosity.----You seem to me only to have been anxious to shake me
off--regardless whether you dashed me to atoms by the fall.--In truth I
have been rudely handled. _Do you judge coolly_, and I trust you will
not continue to call those capricious feelings "the most refined," which
would undermine not only the most sacred principles, but the affections
which unite mankind.----You would render mothers unnatural--and there
would be no such thing as a father!--If your theory of morals is the most
"exalted," it is certainly the most easy.--It does not require much
magnanimity, to determine to please ourselves for the moment, let others
suffer what they will!

Excuse me for again tormenting you, my heart thirsts for justice from
you--and whilst I recollect that you approved Miss ------'s conduct--I am
convinced you will not always justify your own.

Beware of the deceptions of passion! It will not always banish from your
mind, that you have acted ignobly--and condescended to subterfuge to
gloss over the conduct you could not excuse.--Do truth and principle
require such sacrifices?

* * * * *

LETTER LXXVI.

London, December 8.

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