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Is it,
then, a moment to abandon him? My last letter was severe, and may
perhaps have caused him pain. Perhaps, in spite of our different
ways of thinking, he wished not to end our correspondence. Yes, he
has thought my letter more caustic than I meant it to be, and taken
it in the light of an absolute and contemptuous dismission.
CHAPTER XLI.
I sat down and wrote as follows:-
"I hear that you are not well, and am extremely sorry for it. I
wish I were with you, and enabled to assist you as a friend. I hope
your illness is the sole cause why you have not written to me during
the last three days. Did you take offence at my little strictures
the other day? Believe me they were dictated by no ill will or
spleen, but with the single object of drawing your attention to more
serious subjects. Should it be irksome for you to write, send me an
exact account, by word, how you find yourself. You shall hear from
me every day, and I will try to say something to amuse you, and to
show you that I really wish you well."
Imagine my unfeigned surprise when I received an answer, couched in
these terms:
"I renounce your friendship: if you are at a loss how to estimate
mine, I return the compliment in its full force. I am not a man to
put up with injurious treatment; I am not one, who, once rejected,
will be ordered to return."
"Because you heard I was unwell, you approach me with a hypocritical
air, in the idea that illness will break down my spirit, and make me
listen to your sermons . . . "
In this way he rambled on, reproaching and despising me in the most
revolting terms he could find, and turning every thing I had said
into ridicule and burlesque. He assured me that he knew how to live
and die with consistency; that is to say, with the utmost hatred and
contempt for all philosophical creeds differing from his own. I was
dismayed!
"A pretty conversion I have made of it!" I exclaimed; "yet God is my
witness that my motives were pure. I have done nothing to merit an
attack like this. But patience! I am once more undeceived. I am
not called upon to do more."
In a few days I became less angry, and conceived that all this
bitterness might have resulted from some excitement which might pass
away. Probably he repents, yet scorns to confess he was in the
wrong. In such a state of mind, it might be generous of me to write
to him once more. It cost my self-love something, but I did it. To
humble one's self for a good purpose is not degrading, with whatever
degree of unjust contempt it may be returned.
I received a reply less violent, but not less insulting. The
implacable patient declared that he admired what he called my
evangelical moderation. "Now, therefore," he continued, "let us
resume our correspondence, but let us speak out. We do not like
each other, but we will write, each for his own amusement, setting
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