seldom meet together.

* See Letter X.

Yet I dread, I exceedingly dread, the conflicts I know I must
encounter with. It is possible, that I may be more unhappy from the due
observation of the good doctor's general precept, than were I to
yield the point; since what I call steadiness is deemed stubbornness,
obstinacy, prepossession, by those who have a right to put what
interpretation they please upon my conduct.

So, my dear, were we perfect (which no one can be) we could not be
happy in this life, unless those with whom we have to deal (those more
especially who have any controul upon us) were governed by the same
principles. But then does not the good Doctor's conclusion recur,--That
we have nothing to do, but to chuse what is right; to be steady in the
pursuit of it; and to leave the issue to Providence?

This, if you approve of my motives, (and if you don't, pray inform me)
must be my aim in the present case.

But what then can I plead for a palliation to myself of my mother's
sufferings on my account? Perhaps this consideration will carry some
force with it--That her difficulties cannot last long; only till
this great struggle shall be one way or other determined--Whereas my
unhappiness, if I comply, will (from an aversion not to be overcome) be
for life. To which let me add, That as I have reason to think that the
present measures are not entered upon with her own natural liking, she
will have the less pain, should they want the success which I think in
my heart they ought to want.

I have run a great length in a very little time. The subject touched me
to the quick. My reflections upon it will give you reason to expect from
me a perhaps too steady behaviour in a new conference, which, I find, I
must have with my mother. My father and brother, as she was pleased
to tell me, dine at my uncle Antony's; and that, as I have reason to
believe, on purpose to give an opportunity for it.

Hannah informs me, that she heard my father high and angry with my
mother, at taking leave of her: I suppose for being to favourable to me;
for Hannah heard her say, as in tears, 'Indeed, Mr. Harlowe, you greatly
distress me!--The poor girl does not deserve--' Hannah heard no more,
but that he said, he would break somebody's heart--Mine, I suppose--Not
my mother's, I hope.

As only my sister dines with my mother, I thought I should have been
commanded down: but she sent me up a plate from her table. I continued
my wri