me this morning, and I reflected a moment--your _officious_
message, which at first appeared to me a joke--looked so very like an
insult--I cannot forget it--To prevent then the necessity of forcing a
smile--when I chance to meet you--I take the earliest opportunity of
informing you of my real sentiments.

MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.

* * * * *

LETTER XIII.

Wednesday, 3 o'clock.

Sir,

IT is inexpressibly disagreeable to me to be obliged to enter again on a
subject, that has already raised a tumult of _indignant_ emotions in my
bosom, which I was labouring to suppress when I received your letter. I
shall now _condescend_ to answer your epistle; but let me first tell you,
that, in my _unprotected_ situation, I make a point of never forgiving a
_deliberate insult_--and in that light I consider your late officious
conduct. It is not according to my nature to mince matters--I will then
tell you in plain terms, what I think. I have ever considered you in the
light of a _civil_ acquaintance--on the word friend I lay a peculiar
emphasis--and, as a mere acquaintance, you were rude and _cruel_, to step
forward to insult a woman, whose conduct and misfortunes demand respect.
If my friend, Mr. Johnson, had made the proposal--I should have been
severely hurt--have thought him unkind and unfeeling, but not
_impertinent_.--The privilege of intimacy you had no claim to--and should
have referred the man to myself--if you had not sufficient discernment to
quash it at once. I am, sir, poor and destitute.--Yet I have a spirit
that will never bend, or take indirect methods, to obtain the consequence
I despise; nay, if to support life it was necessary to act contrary to my
principles, the struggle would soon be over. I can bear any thing but my
own contempt.

In a few words, what I call an insult, is the bare supposition that I
could for a moment think of _prostituting_ my person for a maintenance;
for in that point of view does such a marriage appear to me, who consider
right and wrong in the abstract, and never by words and local opinions
shield myself from the reproaches of my own heart and understanding.

It is needless to say more--Only you must excuse me when I add, that I
wish never to see, but as a perfect stranger, a person who could so
grossly mistake my character. An apology is not necessary--if you were
inclined to make one--nor any further expostulations.--I again repeat, I
cannot overlook a