n them. A gentleman, brother to my god-mother,
from whom we never had right or reason to expect any such assistance,
sent my father twenty pounds; and to crown all these God's blessings to
our family at such a time, an old lady, a cousin of my father and
aunt's, a gentlewoman of fortune, is to take my aunt and make her
comfortable for the short remainder of her days. My aunt is recovered,
and as well as ever, and highly pleased at thoughts of going, and has
generously given up the interest of her little money (which was formerly
paid my father for her board) wholely and solely to my sister's use.
Reckoning this, we have, Daddy and I, for oar two selves and an old
maid-servant to look after him when I am out, which will be necessary,
L170, or L180 rather, a year, out of which we can spare L50 or L60 at
least for Mary while she stays at Islington, where she roust and shall
stay during her father's life, for his and her comfort. I know John will
make speeches about it, but she shall not go into an hospital. The good
lady of the madhouse and her daughter, an elegant, sweet-behaved young
lady, love her, and are taken with her amazingly; and I know from her
own mouth she loves them, and longs to be with them as much. Poor thing,
they say she was but the other morning saying she knew she must go to
Bethlem for life; that one of her brothers would have it so, but the
other would wish it not, but be obliged to go with the stream; that she
had often, as she passed Bethlem, thought it likely, "here it may be my
fate to end my days," conscious of a certain flightiness in her poor
head oftentimes, and mindful of more than one severe illness of that
nature before. A legacy of L100 which my father will have at Christmas,
and this L20 I mentioned before, with what is in the house, will much
more than set us clear. If my father, an old servant-maid, and I can't
live, and live comfortably, on L130 or L120 a year, we ought to burn by
slow fires; and I almost would, that Mary might not go into an hospital.

Let me not leave one unfavorable impression on your mind respecting my
brother. Since this has happened, he has been very kind and brotherly;
but I fear for his mind. He has taken his ease in the world, and is not
fit himself to struggle with difficulties, nor has much accustomed
himself to throw himself into their way; and I know his language is
already, "Charles, you must take care of yourself, you must not abridge
yourself of a single