y the best
and most indulgent of parents; and rejoicing in the kind favour of two
affectionate uncles, and in the esteem of every one.

But how is this scene now changed!--You was pleased to cast a favourable
eye upon me. You addressed yourself to my friends: your proposals were
approved of by them--approved of without consulting me; as if my choice
and happiness were of the least signification. Those who had a right to
all reasonable obedience from me, insisted upon it without reserve.
I had not the felicity to think as they did; almost the first time my
sentiments differed from theirs. I besought them to indulge me in a
point so important to my future happiness: but, alas, in vain! And then
(for I thought it was but honest) I told you my mind; and even that
my affections were engaged. But, to my mortification and surprise, you
persisted, and still persist.

The consequence of all is too grievous for me to repeat: you, who have
such free access to the rest of the family, know it too well--too well
you know it, either for the credit of your own generosity, or for my
reputation. I am used, on your account, as I never before was used, and
never before was thought to deserve to be used; and this was the hard,
the impossible, condition of their returning favour, that I must prefer
a man to all others, that of all others I cannot prefer.

Thus distressed, and made unhappy, and all to your sake, and through
your cruel perseverance, I write, Sir, to demand of you the peace of
mind you have robbed me of: to demand of you the love of so many dear
friends, of which you have deprived me; and, if you have the generosity
that should distinguish a man, and a gentleman, to adjure you not to
continue an address that has been attended with such cruel effects to
the creature you profess to esteem.

If you really value me, as my friends would make me believe, and as you
have declared you do, must it not be a mean and selfish value? A value
that can have no merit with the unhappy object of it, because it is
attended with effects so grievous to her? It must be for your own sake
only, not for mine. And even in this point you must be mistaken: For,
would a prudent man wish to marry one who has not a heart to give? Who
cannot esteem him? Who therefore must prove a bad wife!--And how cruel
would it be to make a poor creature a bad wife, whose pride it would be
to make a good one!

If I am capable of judging, our tempers and inclinations ar