her is not complied with?--Wills are sacred things, child. You
see, that they, even they, think so, who imagine they suffer by a will,
through the distinction paid you in it.

I allow of all your noble reasonings for what you did at the time: But,
since such a charming, such a generous instance of filial duty is to go
thus unrewarded, why should you not resume?

Your grandfather knew the family-failing. He knew what a noble spirit
you had to do good. He himself, perhaps, [excuse me, my dear,] had done
too little in his life-time; and therefore he put it in your power to
make up for the defects of the whole family. Were it to me, I would
resume it. Indeed I would.

You will say, you cannot do it, while you are with them. I don't know
that. Do you think they can use you worse than they do? And is it not
your right? And do they not make use of your own generosity to oppress
you? Your uncle Harlowe is one trustee; your cousin Morden is the other:
insist upon your right to your uncle; and write to your cousin Morden
about it. This, I dare say, will make them alter their behaviour to you.

Your insolent brother--what has he to do to controul you?--Were it me [I
wish it were for one month, and no more] I'd shew him the difference. I
would be in my own mansion, pursuing my charming schemes, and making all
around me happy. I would set up my own chariot. I would visit them when
they deserved it. But when my brother and sister gave themselves airs,
I would let them know, that I was their sister, and not their servant:
and, if that did not do, I would shut my gates against them; and bid
them go and be company for each other.

It must be confessed, however, that this brother and sister of yours,
judging as such narrow spirits will ever judge, have some reason for
treating you as they do. It must have long been a mortification to
them (set disappointed love on her side, and avarice on his, out of the
question) to be so much eclipsed by a younger sister. Such a sun in a
family, where there are none but faint twinklers, how could they bear
it! Why, my dear, they must look upon you as a prodigy among them: and
prodigies, you know, though they obtain our admiration, never attract
our love. The distance between you and them is immense. Their eyes ache
to look up at you. What shades does your full day of merit cast
upon them! Can you wonder, then, that they should embrace the first
opportunity that offered, to endeavour to bring you do