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.

* * * *

* * * * *

LETTER LXXVII.

AS the parting from you for ever is the most serious event of my life, I
will once expostulate with you, and call not the language of truth and
feeling ingenuity!

I know the soundness of your understanding--and know that it is
impossible for you always to confound the caprices of every wayward
inclination with the manly dictates of principle.

You tell me "that I torment you."--Why do I?----Because you cannot
estrange your heart entirely from me--and you feel that justice is on my
side. You urge, "that your conduct was unequivocal."--It was not.--When
your coolness has hurt me, with what tenderness have you endeavoured to
remove the impression!--and even before I returned to England, you took
great pains to convince me, that all my uneasiness was occasioned by the
effect of a worn-out constitution--and you concluded your letter with
thes