My dear Friend,Your letter raised me for a moment from the depths of despair;but not hearing from you yesterday or to-day (as I hoped)Ihave had a relapse.You say I want to get rid of her.I hope you are more right in your conjectures about her than in this about me.Oh no!
believe it,I love her as I do my own soul;my very heart is wedded to her (be she what she may)and I would not hesitate a moment between her and "an angel from Heaven."I grant all you say about my self-tormenting folly:but has it been without cause?Has she not refused me again and again with a mixture of scorn and resentment,after going the utmost lengths with a man for whom she now disclaims all affection;and what security can I have for her reserve with others,who will not be restrained by feelings of delicacy towards her,and whom she has probably preferred to me for their want of it."SHE CAN MAKE NOMORE CONFIDENCES"--these words ring for ever in my ears,and will be my death-watch.They can have but one meaning,be sure of it--she always expressed herself with the exactest propriety.That was one of the things for which I loved her--shall I live to hate her for it?My poor fond heart,that brooded over her and the remains of her affections as my only hope of comfort upon earth,cannot brook this new degradation.
Who is there so low as me?Who is there besides (I ask)after the homage I have paid her and the caresses she has lavished on me,so vile,so abhorrent to love,to whom such an indignity could have happened?
When I think of this (and I think of nothing else)it stifles me.I am pent up in burning,fruitless desires,which can find no vent or object.
Am I not hated,repulsed,derided by her whom alone I love or ever did love?I cannot stay in any place,and seek in vain for relief from the sense of her contempt and her ingratitude.I can settle to nothing:
what is the use of all I have done?Is it not that very circumstance (my thinking beyond my strength,my feeling more than I need about so many things)that has withered me up,and made me a thing for Love to shrink from and wonder at?Who could ever feel that peace from the touch of her dear hand that I have done;and is it not torn from me for ever?My state is this,that I shall never lie down again at night nor rise up in the morning in peace,nor ever behold my little boy's face with pleasure while I live--unless I am restored to her favour.Instead of that delicious feeling I had when she was heavenly-kind to me,and my heart softened and melted in its own tenderness and her sweetness,I am now inclosed in a dungeon of despair.The sky is marble to my thoughts;nature is dead around me,as hope is within me;no object can give me one gleam of satisfaction now,nor the prospect of it in time to come.
I wander by the sea-side;and the eternal ocean and lasting despair and her face are before me.Slighted by her,on whom my heart by its last fibre hung,where shall I turn?I wake with her by my side,not as my sweet bedfellow,but as the corpse of my love,without a heart in her bosom,cold,insensible,or struggling from me;and the worm gnaws me,and the sting of unrequited love,and the canker of a hopeless,endless sorrow.I have lost the taste of my food by feverish anxiety;and my favourite beverage,which used to refresh me when I got up,has no moisture in it.Oh!cold,solitary,sepulchral breakfasts,compared with those which I promised myself with her;or which I made when she had been standing an hour by my side,my guardian-angel,my wife,my sister,my sweet friend,my Eve,my all;and had blest me with her seraph kisses!Ah!what I suffer at present only shews what I have enjoyed.But "the girl is a good girl,if there is goodness in human nature."I thank you for those words;and I will fall down and worship you,if you can prove them true:and I would not do much less for him that proves her a demon.She is one or the other,that's certain;but I fear the worst.Do let me know if anything has passed:suspense is my greatest punishment.I am going into the country to see if I can work a little in the three weeks I have yet to stay here.Write on the receipt of this,and believe me ever your unspeakably obliged friend.
