so
lucky as to find one. I am not partial to myself I know, and am
contented that the pleasure I have received with this, shall serve to
sweeten many sad thoughts that have interposed since your last, and more
that I may reasonably expect before I have another; and I think I may
(without vanity) say, that nobody is more sensible of the least good
fortune nor murmurs less at an ill than I do, since I owe it merely to
custom and not to any constancy in my humour, or something that is
better. No, in earnest, anything of good comes to me like the sun to the
inhabitants of Greenland, it raises them to life when they see it, and
when they miss it, it is not strange they expect a night of half a year
long.

You cannot imagine how kindly I take it that you forgive my brother, and
let me assure you I shall never press you to anything unreasonable. I
will not oblige you to court a person that has injured you. I only beg
that whatsoever he does in that kind may be excused by his relation to
me, and that whenever you are moved to think he does you wrong, you will
at the same time remember that his sister loves you passionately and
nobly; that if he values nothing but fortune, she despises it, and could
love you as much a beggar as she could do a prince; and shall without
question love you eternally, but whether with any satisfaction to
herself or you is a sad doubt. I am not apt to hope, and whether it be
the better or the worse I know not. All sorts of differences are natural
to me, and that which (if your kindness would give you leave) you would
term a weakness in me is nothing but a reasonable distrust of my own
judgment, which makes me desire the approbation of my friends. I never
had the confidence in my life to presume anything well done that I had
nobody's opinion in but my own; and as you very well observe, there are
so many that think themselves wise when nothing equals their folly but
their pride, that I dread nothing so much as discovering such a thought
in myself because of the consequences of it.

Whenever you come you must not doubt your welcome, but I can promise you
nothing for the manner on't. I am afraid my surprise and disorder will
be more than ever. I have good reason to think so, and none that you can
take ill. But I would not have you attempt it till your father is ready
for the journey too. No, really he deserves that all your occasions
should wait for his; and if you have not much more than an ordinary
o