Sure I never was unhappy till now. Pity me, my mother. Condescend to write to me again, and, by disclosing all your objections to Colden, reconcile, I earnestly entreat you, my duty to your inclination. JANE TALBOT. Letter XII _To Mrs. Fielder_ Philadelphia, October 17. You will not write to me. Your messenger assures me that you have cast me from your thoughts forever; you will speak to me and see me no more. That must not be. I am preparing, inclement as the season is, to pay you a visit. Unless you shut your door against me I _will_ see you. You will not turn me out of doors, I hope. I will see you and compel you to answer me, and to tell me why you will not admit my friend to your good opinion. J. TALBOT. Letter XIII _To Jane Talbot_ New York, October 19. You need not come to see me, Jane. I will not see you. Lay me not under the cruel necessity of shutting my door against you, for _that_ must be the consequence of your attempt. After reading your letter, and seeing full proof of your infatuation, I resolved to throw away my care no longer upon you; to think no more of you; to act just as if you never had existence; whenever it was possible, to shun you; when I met you, by chance, or perforce, to treat you merely as a stranger. I write this letter to acquaint you with my resolution. Your future letters cannot change it, for they shall all be returned to you unopened. I know you better than to trust to the appearance of half-yielding reluctance which your letter contains. Thus it has always been, and as often as this duteous strain flattered me with hopes of winning you to reason, have I been deceived and disappointed. I trust to your discernment, your seeming humility, no longer. No child are you of mine. You have, henceforth, no part in my blood; and may I very soon forget that so lost and betrayed a wretch ever belonged to it! I charge you, write not to me again. H.F. Letter XIV _To Mrs. Fielder_ Philadelphia, October 24. Impossible! Are you not my mother?--more to me than any mother? Did I not receive your protection and instruction in my infancy and my childhood? When left an orphan by my own mother, your bosom was open to receive me. _There_ was the helpless babe cherished, and there was it taught all that virtue which it has since endeavoured to preserve unimpaired in every trial. You must not cast me off. You must not hate me. You must not call me ungrateful and a wretch. Not to have merited these names is all that enables me to endure your displeasure. As long as that belief consoles me, my heart will not break. Yet that, even that, will not much avail me. The distress that I now feel, that I have felt ever since the receipt of your letter, cannot be increased.