TUESDAY.
My dear friend: By that endearing title you permit me still to address
you, and such you have always proved yourself by a participation of my
distresses, as well as by the consoling voice of pity and forgiveness.
What destiny Providence designs for me I know not, but I have my
forebodings that this is the last time I shall ever accost you. Nor does
this apprehension arise merely from a disturbed imagination. I have
reason to think myself in a confirmed consumption, which commonly proves
fatal to persons in my situation. I have carefully concealed every
complaint of the kind from my mamma, for fear of distressing her; yet I
have never been insensible of their probable issue, and have bidden a
sincere welcome to them, as the harbingers of my speedy release from a
life of guilt and woe.
I am going from you, Julia. This night separates us, perhaps, forever. I
have not resolution to encounter the tears of my friends, and therefore
seek shelter among strangers, where none knows or is interested in my
melancholy story. The place of my seclusion I studiously conceal; yet I
shall take measures that you may be apprised of my fate.
Should it please God to spare and restore me to health, I shall return,
and endeavor, by a life of penitence and rectitude, to expiate my past
offences. But should I be called from this scene of action, and leave
behind me a helpless babe, the innocent sufferer of its mother's shame,
O Julia, let your friendship for me extend to the little stranger.
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