University of Virginia Library

SARAH RAMSAY TO EDWARD MOLTON.

The tone of your letter, sir, would deserve reproof;
but, sorrow and humiliation have taken down the pride
of my heart; and taught me to hope, where I cannot believe
in the honour and uprightness of another. I have little
to say to you; but you have, at least, one virtue; and
to that, alone, I address myself. You are frank, and
direct; heaven knows for what purpose; but such, I believe,
is the fact. Let me be so, too. I do not think
well of you. I never shall. Nothing that can ever
happen, during the lapse of many years, can change my
opinion of you.

You loved my friend, Juliet. I cannot understand
how—but, the fact appears to be certain. I loved her,
too. She has entrusted you with her babe. I am legitimately
entitled to it. It was blindness and delusion in
her, alone, that led her to confide a charge, so precious,
to one; of whom, she, poor innocent, knew so little that
was unequivocally good. You may be an injured man,
sir. I would fain believe that you are. But, until that

appears; and I cannot see how it should appear, until all
hearts are laid open for judgment, before God, I cannot
consent to hold any correspondence with you. You see
that I am very plain. I would save trouble. I would
have this letter effectual; and the last, that I shall ever
have occasion to address you. I wrote to you, once before.
Have you forgotten it? My opinion is unaltered; and,
though you may be an innocent and abused man; yet, it
is certain, that you have an evil reputation. That alone,
should disqualify you for the important, the sacred
charge of education. Would you taint the babe, from
its very birth? Mr. Molton, I address you as a man—
good or bad, I care not, at this moment; but, as a
man—I ask you, if you would not yield up that child, if
you were visited by pestilence, or contagion?—It might
not be your fault—it would be merely your misfortune;
but, would you breathe into that child the poison?—
Your reputation would be as fatal to the—will
you give up the child?—You will. I am rejoiced, for
once, to believe well of you. You will!

I am very humble—very;—but, the occasion demands
it. Else, I could not sue to one, that, to this moment, I
feel a strange, deep antipathy toward. I use no disguise.
The conditions, you will name. Let them be as easy as
you can. But, whatever they are, they will be religiously
observed by me.

The gentleman, who hands you this, is named Randolph.
He is a particular, and dear friend of mine.
You will be perfectly safe, in making any arrangement
with him, respecting the maintenance of the nurse and
babe; but, if you will, I should be particularly gratified,
if you would leave the matter entirely to me.