I fondly thought fine clothes and gilt coaches, balls, operas, and public adoration, rather the fatigues of life; and that true happiness was justly defined by Mr.Dryden (pardon the romantic air of repeating verses), when he says, 'Whom Heav'n would bless it does from pomps remove And makes their wealth in privacy and love.' These notions had corrupted my judgment as much as Mrs.Biddy Tipkin's.
According to this scheme, I proposed to pass my life with you.

I yet do you the justice to believe, if any man could have been contented with this manner of living, it would have been you.

Your indifference to me does not hinder me from thinking you capable of tenderness, and the happiness of friendship; but I find it is not to me you'll ever have them; you think me all that is detestable; you accuse me of want of sincerity and generosity.

To convince you of your mistake, I'll show you the last extremes of both.
"While I foolishly fancied you loved me, (which I confess I had never any great reason for, more than that I wished it,) there is no condition of life I could not have been happy in with you, so very much I liked you--I may say loved, since it is the last thing I'll ever say to you.
This is telling you sincerely my greatest weakness; and now I will oblige you with a new proof of generosity--I'll never see you more.

I shall avoid all public places; and this is the last letter I shall send.
If you write, be not displeased if I send it back unopened.