e words, "Business alone has kept me from you.--Come to any port, and
I will fly down to my two dear girls with a heart all their own."

With these assurances, is it extraordinary that I should believe what I
wished? I might--and did think that you had a struggle with old
propensities; but I still thought that I and virtue should at last
prevail. I still thought that you had a magnanimity of character, which
would enable you to conquer yourself.

--------, believe me, it is not romance, you have acknowledged to me
feelings of this kind.--You could restore me to life and hope, and the
satisfaction you would feel, would amply repay you.

In tearing myself from you, it is my own heart I pierce--and the time
will come, when you will lament that you have thrown away a heart, that,
even in the moment of passion, you cannot despise.--I would owe every
thing to your generosity--but, for God's sake, keep me no longer in
suspense!--Let me see you once more!--

* * * * *

LETTER LXXVIII.

YOU must do as you please with respect to the child.--I could wish that
it might be done soon, that my name may be no more mentioned to you. It
is now finished.--Convinced that you have neither regard nor friendship,
I disdain to utter a reproach, though I have had reason to think, that
the "forbearance" talked of, has not been very delicate.--It is however
of no consequence.--I am glad you are satisfied with your own conduct.

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 neve