er--too
often should I have been out of patience with my fellow-creatures, whom I
wish to love!--Allow me to love you, my dear sir, and call friend a being
I respect.--Adieu!

MARY W.

* * * * *

LETTER XI.

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