It  is  now,  my  dear  friends,  some  how  or  other,  become
necessary,  I  think,  to  let  you  minutely  into  ray  situation,
that  you  may  advise,  caution,  instruct  me — For,  I  protest,
I  am  in  a  sort  of  wilderness. — Pray,  my  Lucy,  tell  me —
But  it  cannot  be  from  iove :  so  I  don't  care — Yet  to  lie
under  such  a  weight  of  obligation  ;  and  to  find  myself  so
much  surpassed  by  these  ladies — Yet  it  is  not  from  envy,
surely :  that  is  a  very  bad  passion.  I  hope  my  bosom  has
not  a  place  in  it  for  such  a  mean  self-tormentor.  Can  it
be  from  pride  ?  Pride  is  a  vice  that  always  produces  mor-
tification :  and  proud  you  all  made  me  of  your  favour —
Yet  I  thought  it  was  grateful  to  be  proud  of  it.
[I  wish  1  were  with  you,  Lucy.  I  should  ask  you  abun-
dance of  questions ;  and  repose  my  anxious  heart  on  your
faithful  bosom ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  from  your  an-
swers, arm  it  against  too  great  a  sensibility  before  it  is  too
late.
