LETTER XX.
To Henry Colden.
Philadelphia, October 28.
O my friend! where are you at this trying
moment? why did you desert me? now, if ever,
does my feeble heart stand in need of your
counsel and courage.
Did I ever lean these throbbing brows against
your arm, and pour my tears into your bosom,
that I was not comforted. Never did that
adored voice fail to whisper sweet peace to my
soul. In every storm, thy calmer and more
strenuous spirit, has provided me the means of
safety.—But now I look around for my stay,
my monitor; my encourager, in vain.
You will make haste to dispatch the business
that detains you. You will return, and fly, on
the wings of love, to thy Jane, Alas! she will
not be found. She will have fled far away, and
in her stead will she leave this sullen messenger
to tell thee that thy Jane has parted from thee
forever!
Do not upbraid me, Hal. Do not call me ungrateful
or rash. Indeed, I shall not be able to
bear thy reproaches. I know they will kill me
quite.
And don't expostulate with me. Confirm me
rather in my new resolution. Even if you think
it cruel or absurd, aver that it is just. Persuade
me that I have done my duty to my mother,
and assure me of your cheerful acquiescence.
Too late is it now, even if I would, to recall
my promise.
I have promised to part with you. In the
first tumult of my soul, on receiving the inclosed
letters, I wrote an answer, assuring Mrs. Fielder
of my absolute concurrence with her will.
Already does my heart, calling up thy beloved
image; reflecting on the immense debt which
I owe to your generosity; on the disappointment
which the tidings of my journey will give you;
already do I repent of my precipitation.
I have sought repose but I find it not. My
pillow is moist with the bitterest tears that I
ever shed. To give vent to my swelling heart,
I write to you, but I must now stop. All my
former self is coming back upon me, and while
I think of you as of my true and only friend, I
shall be unable to persist. I will not part with
thee my friend. I cannot do it. Has not my
life been solemnly devoted to compensate thee
for thy unmerited love? For the crosses and vexations
thou hast endured for my sake?
Why shall I forsake thee? To gratify a wayward
and groundless prejudice. To purchase
the shortlived and dubious affection of one who
loves me in proportion as I am blind to thy merit;
as I forget thy benefits: as I countenance
the envy and slander that pursue thee.
Yet what shall I bring to thy arms: A blasted
reputation, poverty: contempt. The indignation
of mine and of thy friends. For thou art
poor and so am I. Thy kindred have antipathies
for me as strong as those that are fostered
against thyself—
