I once hoped
for the privilege of rocking for you the cradle of declining age. I am
deprived of that privilege; but I pray that you may never want a child
whose love and duty shall prove a source of consolation and comfort.
"Farewell. If we never meet again in this life, I hope and trust we
shall in a better--where the parent's eye shall cease to weep for the
disobedience of a child, and the lover's heart to bleed for the
infidelity of his mistress."
I turned to Eliza, and attempted to speak; but her extreme emotion
softened me, and I could not command my voice. I took her hand, and
bowing, in token of an adieu, went precipitately out of the house. The
residence of my friend, with whom I lodged, was at no great distance,
and thither I repaired. As I met him in the entry, I rushed by him, and
betook myself to my chamber. The fever of resentment and the tumult of
passion began now to give place to the softer emotions of the soul. I
found myself perfectly unmanned. I gave free scope to the sensibility
of my heart; and the effeminate relief of tears materially lightened the
load which oppressed me.
After this arduous struggle I went to bed, and slept more calmly than
for several nights before. The next morning I wrote a farewell letter to
Eliza, (a copy of which I shall enclose to you,) and, ordering my horse
to be brought, left town immediately.
My resentment of her behavior has much assisted me in erasing her image
from my breast.
Pages:
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132