pton Church. Even as Dorothy
wrote this, the stone-mason might be slowly carving words that may be
read to this day: "The maintainer of divine exercises, the friend to the
poor." Her father is no longer living, and she is now even more lonely
than before. To depend upon kindred that are not friends, to be under
the protection of a brother who is her lover's avowed enemy, this is her
lot in life, unless Temple can release her from it. Alas! poor Dorothy,
who will now forbear to pity you?

_March the 18th, 1654._

How true it is that a misfortune never comes single; we live in
expectation of some one happiness that we propose to ourselves, an age
almost, and perhaps miss it at the last; but sad accidents have wings to
overtake us, and come in flocks like ill-boding ravens. You were no
sooner gone but (as if that had not been enough) I lost the best father
in the world; and though, as to himself, it was an infinite mercy in God
Almighty to take him out of a world that can be pleasing to none, and
was made more uneasy to him by many infirmities that were upon him, yet
to me it is an affliction much greater than people judge it. Besides all
that is due to nature and the memory of many (more than ordinary)
kindnesses received from him, besides what he was to all that knew him,
and what he was to me in particular, I am left by his death in the
condition (which of all others) is the most unsupportable to my nature,
to depend upon kindred that are not friends, and that, though I pay as
much as I should do to a stranger, yet think they do me a courtesy. I
expect my eldest brother to-day; if he comes, I shall be able to tell
you before I seal this up where you are likely to find me. If he offers
me to stay here, this hole will be more agreeable to my humour than any
place that is more in the world. I take it kindly that you used art to
conceal our story and satisfy my nice apprehensions, but I'll not impose
that constraint upon you any longer, for I find my kind brother
publishes it with more earnestness than ever I strove to conceal it; and
with more disadvantage than anybody else would. Now he has tried all
ways to do what he desires, and finds it is in vain, he resolves to
revenge himself upon me, by representing this action in such colours as
will amaze all people that know me, and do not know him enough to
discern his malice to me; he is not able to forbear showing it now, when
my condition deserves pity from all the world