'I have reflected, again and again, on the imprudence of cherishing an attachment, which a variety of circumstances combine to render so unpromising, and--What shall I say?--So peculiar is the constitution of my mind, that those very circumstances have had a tendency directly opposite to what might reasonably have been expected; and have only served to render the sentiment, I have delighted to foster, more affecting and interesting.--Yes! I am aware of the tenure upon which you retain your fortunes--of the cruel and unnatural conditions imposed on you by the capricious testator: neither can I require a sacrifice which I am unable to recompence. But while these melancholy convictions deprive me of hope, they encourage me, by proving the disinterestedness of my attachment, to relieve my heart by communication.--Mine is a whimsical pride, which dreads nothing so much as the imputation of sordid, or sinister motives. Remember, then--should we never meet again--if in future periods you should find, that the friendship of the world is--"a shade that follows wealth and fame;"--if, where you have conferred obligations, you are repaid with ingratitude--where you have placed confidence, with treachery--and where you have a claim to zeal, with coldness! Remember, _that you have once been beloved, for yourself alone_, by one, who, in contributing to the comfort of your life, would have found the happiness of her own. 'Is it possible that a mind like yours, neither hardened by prosperity, nor debased by fashionable levity--which vice has not corrupted, nor ignorance brutalized--can be wholly insensible to the balmy sweetness, which natural, unsophisticated, affections, shed through the human heart? "Shall those by heaven's own influence join'd, By feeling, sympathy, and mind, The sacred voice of truth deny, And mock the mandate of the sky?" 'But I check my pen:--I am no longer-- "The hope-flush'd enterer on the stage of life." 'The dreams of youth, chaced by premature reflection, have given place to soberer, to sadder, conclusions; and while I acknowledge, that it would be inexpressibly soothing to me to believe, that in happier circumstances, my artless affection might have awakened in your mind a sympathetic tenderness:--this is the extent of my hopes!--I recollect you once told me "It was our duty to make our reason conquer the sensibility of our heart." Yet, why? Is, then, apathy the perfection of our nature--and is not that nature refined and harmonized by the gentle and social affections? The Being who gave to the mind its reason, gave also to the heart its sensibility.