at an end. My hopes, like opening buds or blossoms in an
over-forward spring, have been nipt by a severe frost!--blighted by an
eastern wind!--but I can but once die; and if life be spared me, but till
I am discharged from a heavy malediction, which my father in his wrath
laid upon me, and which is fulfilled literally in every article relating
to this world; that, and a last blessing, are all I have to wish for; and
death will be welcomer to me, than rest to the most wearied traveller
that ever reached his journey's end.'

And then she sunk her head against the back of her chair, and, hiding her
face with her handkerchief, endeavoured to conceal her tears from us.

Not a soul of us could speak a word. Thy presence, perhaps, thou
hardened wretch, might have made us ashamed of a weakness which perhaps
thou wilt deride me in particular for, when thou readest this!----

She retired to her chamber soon after, and was forced, it seems, to lie
down. We all went down together; and, for an hour and a half, dwelt upon
her praises; Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Lovick repeatedly expressing their
astonishment, that there could be a man in the world, capable of
offending, much more of wilfully injuring such a lady; and repeating,
that they had an angel in their house.--I thought they had; and that
as assuredly as there is a devil under the roof of good Lord M.

I hate thee heartily!--by my faith I do!--every hour I hate thee more
than the former!----

J. BELFORD.

LETTER XXXII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
SATURDAY, JULY 22.

What dost hate me for, Belford!--and why more and more! have I been
guilty of any offence thou knewest not before?--If pathos can move such a
heart as thine, can it alter facts!--Did I not always do this
incomparable creature as much justice as thou canst do her for the heart
of thee, or as she can do herself?----What nonsense then thy hatred, thy
augmented hatred, when I still persist to marry her, pursuant to word
given to thee, and to faith plighted to all my relations? But hate, if
thou wilt, so thou dost but write. Thou canst not hate me so much as I
do myself: and yet I know if thou really hatedst me, thou wouldst not
venture to tell me so.

Well, but after all, what need of her history to these women? She will
certainly repent, some time hence, that she has thus needless exposed us
both.

Sickness palls every appetite, and makes us hate what we loved: but
renewed health changes the