Whatever
might have been the injury any individual of now annihilated Poland
could, in its palmy days of independence, and sometimes pride,
inflict on this implacable Englishman, of a nature that appeared to
have blinded him to even human feeling, Thaddeus felt so true an
indignation against such cruel injustice, and so much of a contrary
sentiment towards the noble son of this hard parent, that he
determined to at once relieve the warring mind of Pembroke of any
further conflict on his account by immediately quitting England.
Averse to a second interview with a friend so justly beloved, which
could only produce them new pangs, he resolved on instant
preparations--that another morn should not rise upon him in the
neighborhood of Somerset Castle. Taking up a pen, with all the
renewed loneliness of his fate brooding on his heart, he wrote two
letters.
One he addressed to Mr. Somerset, bidding him that farewell which he
confessed he could never take. As he wrote, his hand trembled, his
bosom swelled, and he hastily shut his eyelids, to withhold his tears
from showing themselves on the paper. His emotion, his grief, were
driven back, were concealed, but the tenderness of his soul flowed
over the letter. He forgave Pembroke's father for Pembroke's sake;
and in spite of their personal disunion, he vowed that no earthly
power should restrain his love from following the steps of his
friend, even into the regions of eternity.
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