my eyes — I am torn to pieces. Oh Heaven, I beseech thee spare
me a few pangs. Oblivion I would call thee to my aid, but some
thing checks the sound from escaping — I cannot forget thee. I
dread solitude and reflection, and yet — strange fatality! I
court it.
    Thy "pleasures of memory" are at my right hand; but I must
put it farthest from me. I am weaker now than ever. Simpleton,
thus to increase anguish by talking of it. I will go, and bring myself
to love another; and by that means endeavour to take off my attention.
    Had thy conduct breathed the same spirit as some of thy
letters, prudence had fled from me. I had either remained in Lin
-colnshire, or never have left it without thee. Confirm me, my
friend, that I have acted right, by thy letter. Perhaps thou hast
already mastered every affection but that of friendship,
and lookest upon parting from me, as from another
friend; if so, tell me my dear Annette, in mercy tell me
then trouble thee with no more complaints. On the first day of {each}
returning January, I will taste the "pleasures of memory" and sigh
forth thy name, but no more.
    Thou hast promised to inform me when thou art married,
and I trust that the earliest opportunity afterwards will bring
me the intelligence: it will be important to me. And whilst
I am toƒsed by winds and waves on various coasts and in various
climes, may thou enjoy that serenity that a contemplative
mind feels on surveying its own happineƒs. May thou meet
with one, whose mind and heart are worthy of thy love; and
whose circumstances, unlike mine, can afford thee the enjoyment
of life. Adieu, perhaps the last time. This exceƒs of misery