he ceremony
is profaned, you must suddenly dry up; and endeavour to dispose of
yourself to such a humble frame of mind, as may induce your new-made
lord to forgive all your past declarations of aversion.

In short, my dear, you must then blandish him over with a confession,
that all your past behaviour was maidenly reserve only: and it will be
your part to convince him of the truth of his imprudent sarcasm, that
the coyest maids make the fondest wives. Thus will you enter the state
with a high sense of obligation to his forgiving goodness: and if you
will not be kept to it by that fear, by which he proposes to govern, I
am much mistaken.

Yet, after all, I must leave the point undetermined, and only to be
determined, as you find they recede from their avowed purpose, or
resolve to remove you to your uncle Antony's. But I must repeat my
wishes, that something may fall out, that neither of these men may call
you his!--And may you live single, my dearest friend, till some man
shall offer, that may be as worthy of you, as man can be!

But yet, methinks, I would not, that you, who are so admirably qualified
to adorn the married state, should be always single. You know I am
incapable of flattery; and that I always speak and write the sincerest
dictates of my heart. Nor can you, from what you must know of your
own merit (taken only in a comparative light with others) doubt my
sincerity. For why should a person who delight to find out and admire
every thing that is praise-worthy in another, be supposed ignorant of
like perfections in herself, when she could not so much admire them in
another, if she had them not herself? And why may not I give her those
praises, which she would give to any other, who had but half of her
excellencies?--Especially when she is incapable of pride and vain-glory;
and neither despises others for the want of her fine qualities, nor
overvalues herself upon them?--Over-values, did I say!--How can that be?

Forgive me, my beloved friend. My admiration of you (increased, as it
is, by every letter you write) will not always be held down in silence;
although, in order to avoid offending you, I generally endeavour to keep
it from flowing to my pen, when I write to you, or to my lips, whenever
I have the happiness to be in your company.

I will add nothing (though I could add a hundred things on account of
your latest communications) but that I am

Your ever affectionate and faithful ANNA HOWE.

I hop