feated as I was to find none. I could not imagine the reason, only I
assured myself it was no fault of yours, but perhaps a just punishment
upon me for having been too much pleased in a company where you were
not.

After supper my brother and I fell into dispute about riches, and the
great advantages of it; he instanced in the widow that it made one
respected in the world. I said 'twas true, but that was a respect I
should not at all value when I owed it only to my fortune. And we
debated it so long till we had both talked ourselves weary enough to go
to bed. Yet I did not sleep so well but that I chid my maid for waking
me in the morning, till she stopped my mouth with saying she had letters
for me. I had not patience to stay till I could rise, but made her tie
up all the curtains to let in light; and among some others I found my
dear letter that was first to be read, and which made all the rest not
worth the reading. I could not but wonder to find in it that my cousin
Franklin should want a true friend when 'tis thought she has the best
husband in the world; he was so passionate for her before he had her,
and so pleased with her since, that, in earnest, I did not think it
possible she could have anything left to wish for that she had not
already in such a husband with such a fortune. But she can best tell
whether she is happy or not; only if she be not, I do not see how
anybody else can hope it. I know her the least of all the sisters, and
perhaps 'tis to my advantage that she knows me no more, since she speaks
so obligingly of me. But do you think it was altogether without design
she spoke it to you? When I remember she is Tom Cheeke's sister, I am
apt to think she might have heard his news, and meant to try whether
there was anything of truth in't. My cousin Molle, I think, means to end
the summer there. They say, indeed, 'tis a very fine seat, but if I did
not mistake Sir Thomas Cheeke, he told me there was never a good room in
the house. I was wondering how you came by an acquaintance there,
because I had never heard you speak that you knew them. I never saw him
in my life, but he is famous for a kind husband. Only 'twas found fault
with that he could not forbear kissing his wife before company, a
foolish trick that young married men are apt to; he has left it long
since, I suppose. But, seriously, 'tis as ill a sight as one would wish
to see, and appears very rude, methinks, to the company.

What a strange fello