n this sudden and
grievous indisposition, by the frame it has put you in, and the
apprehension it has given you of losing so dear a mother, will contribute
to the happiness I wish you: for, alas! my dear, we seldom know how to
value the blessings we enjoy, till we are in danger of losing them, or
have actually lost them: and then, what would we give to have them
restored to us!

What, I wonder, has again happened between you and Mr. Hickman? Although
I know not, I dare say it is owing to some petty petulance, to some
half-ungenerous advantage taken of his obligingness and assiduity. Will
you never, my dear, give the weight you and all our sex ought to give to
the qualities of sobriety and regularity of life and manners in that sex?
Must bold creatures, and forward spirits, for ever, and by the best and
wisest of us, as well as by the indiscreetest, be the most kindly
treated?

My dear friends know not that I have actually suffered within less than
an inch of my life.

Poor Mr. Brand! he meant well, I believe. I am afraid all will turn
heavily upon him, when he probably imagined that he was taking the best
method to oblige. But were he not to have been so light of belief, and
so weakly officious; and had given a more favourable, and, it would be
strange if I could not say, a juster report; things would have been,
nevertheless, exactly as they are.

I must lay down my pen. I am very ill. I believe I shall be better
by-and-by. The bad writing would betray me, although I had a mind to
keep from you what the event must soon--

***

Now I resume my trembling pen. Excuse the unsteady writing. It will
be so--

I have wanted no money: so don't be angry about such a trifle as money.
Yet I am glad of what you inclined me to hope, that my friends will give
up the produce of my grandfather's estate since it has been in their
hands: because, knowing it to be my right, and that they could not want
it, I had already disposed of a good part of it; and could only hope they
would be willing to give it up at my last request. And now how rich
shall I think myself in this my last stage!--And yet I did not want
before--indeed I did not--for who, that has many superfluities, can be
said to want!

Do not, my dear friend, be concerned that I call it my last stage; For
what is even the long life which in high health we wish for? What, but,
as we go along, a life of apprehension, sometimes for our friends,
oftener for ou