therly relation from him myself. If
such a thing were to be, Sir Charles Grandison's generosity to the Danbys
should be my example.

Do you know, Mr. Fowler, said I, the contents of the letter you have put
into my hand?

No farther than that my uncle told me, it contained professions of
fatherly love; and with wishes only--But without so much as expressing
his hopes.

Sir Rowland is a good man, said I: I have not read above half his letter.
There seems to be too much of the father in it, for me to read further,
before my brother. God bless my brother Fowler, and reward the fatherly
love of Sir Rowland to his daughter Byron! I must write to him.

Mr. Fowler, poor man! profoundly sighed; bowed; with such a look of
respectful acquiescence--Bless me, my dear, how am I to be distressed on
all sides! by good men too; as Sir Charles could say by good women.

Is there nothing less than giving myself to either, that I can do to shew
Mr. Orme and Mr. Fowler my true value for them?

Poor Mr. Fowler!--Indeed he looks to be, as Sir Rowland hints, not well.
--Such a modest, such a humble, such a silent lover!--He cost me tears at
parting: I could not hide them. He heaped praises and blessings upon me,
and hurried away at last, to hide his emotion, with a sentence
unfinished.--God preserve you, dear and worthy sir! was all I could try
to say. The last words stuck in my throat, till he was out of hearing;
and then I prayed for blessings upon him and his uncle: and repeated
them, with fresh tears, on reading the rest of the affecting letter.

Mr. Fowler told Mr. Reeves, before I saw him, that he is to go to
Caermarthen for the benefit of his native air, in a week. He let him
know where he lodged in town. He had been riding for his health and
diversion about the country, ever since his uncle went; and has not been
yet at Caermarthen.

I wish Mr. Fowler had once, if but once, called me sister: it would have
been such a kind acquiescence, as would have given me some little
pleasure on recollection. Methinks I don't know how to have done writing
of Sir Rowland and Mr. Fowler.

I sat down, however, while the uncle and nephew filled my thoughts, and
wrote to the former. I have enclosed the copy of my letter.

Adieu, my Lucy.

LETTER XXXIV

MISS BYRON, TO SIR ROWLAND MEREDITH
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19.

It was with great pleasure that I received, this day, the kindest Letter
that ever was written by a real father to his deares