r grew
since. Look to it; if I keep the lock you give me better than you do all
the rest, I shall not spare you; expect to be soundly chidden. What do
you mean to do with all my letters? Leave them behind you? If you do, it
must be in safe hands, some of them concern you, and me, and other
people besides us very much, and they will almost load a horse to carry.

Does not my cousin at Moor Park mistrust us a little? I have a great
belief they do. I am sure Robin C---- told my brother of it since I was
last in town. Of all things, I admire my cousin Molle has not got it by
the end, he that frequents that family so much, and is at this instant
at Kimbolton. If he has, and conceals it, he is very discreet; I could
never discern by anything that he knew it. I shall endeavour to accustom
myself to the noise on't, and make it as easy to me as I can, though I
had much rather it were not talked of till there were an absolute
necessity of discovering it, and you can oblige me in nothing more than
in concealing it. I take it very kindly that you promise to use all your
interest in your father to persuade him to endeavour our happiness, and
he appears so confident of his power that it gives me great hopes.

Dear! shall we ever be so happy, think you? Ah! I dare not hope it. Yet
'tis not want of love gives me these fears. No, in earnest, I think
(nay, I'm sure) I love you more than ever, and 'tis that only gives me
these despairing thoughts; when I consider how small a proportion of
happiness is allowed in this world, and how great mine would be in a
person for whom I have a passionate kindness, and who has the same for
me. As it is infinitely above what I can deserve, and more than God
Almighty usually allots to the best people, I can find nothing in reason
but seems to be against me; and, methinks, 'tis as vain in me to expect
it as 'twould be to hope I might be a queen (if that were really as
desirable a thing as 'tis thought to be); and it is just it should be
so.

We complain of this world, and the variety of crosses and afflictions it
abounds in, and yet for all this who is weary on't (more than in
discourse), who thinks with pleasure of leaving it, or preparing for the
next? We see old folks, who have outlived all the comforts of life,
desire to continue in it, and nothing can wean us from the folly of
preferring a mortal being, subject to great infirmity and unavoidable
decays, before an immortal one, and all the glories t