tunes
that will not let me sleep there, I should forget that there were such a
thing to be done as going to bed.

Since I writ this my company is increased by two, my brother Harry and a
fair niece, the eldest of my brother Peyton's children. She is so much a
woman that I am almost ashamed to say I am her aunt; and so pretty,
that, if I had any design to gain of servants, I should not like her
company; but I have none, and therefore shall endeavour to keep her here
as long as I can persuade her father to spare her, for she will easily
consent to it, having so much of my humour (though it be the worst thing
in her) as to like a melancholy place and little company. My brother
John is not come down again, nor am I certain when he will be here. He
went from London into Gloucestershire to my sister who was very ill, and
his youngest girl, of which he was very fond, is since dead. But I
believe by that time his wife has a little recovered her sickness and
loss of her child, he will be coming this way. My father is reasonably
well, but keeps his chamber still, and will hardly, I am afraid, ever be
so perfectly recovered as to come abroad again.

I am sorry for poor Walker, but you need not doubt of what he has of
yours in his hands, for it seems he does not use to do his work himself.
I speak seriously, he keeps a Frenchman that sets all his seals and
rings. If what you say of my Lady Leppington be of your own knowledge, I
shall believe you, but otherwise I can assure you I have heard from
people that pretend to know her very well, that her kindness to Compton
was very moderate, and that she never liked him so well as when he died
and gave her his estate. But they might be deceived, and 'tis not so
strange as that you should imagine a coldness and an indifference in my
letters when I so little meant it; but I am not displeased you should
desire my kindness enough to apprehend the loss of it when it is safest.
Only I would not have you apprehend it so far as to believe it
possible,--that were an injury to all the assurances I have given you,
and if you love me you cannot think me unworthy. I should think myself
so, if I found you grew indifferent to me, that I have had so long and
so particular a friendship for; but, sure, this is more than I need to
say. You are enough in my heart to know all my thoughts, and if so, you
know better than I can tell you how much I am

Yours.

_Letter 19._--Lady Ruthin is Susan, daughter an