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I have not had a moment to devote to
my dear Celia &longs;ince I di&longs;patched the la&longs;t,
but as I know your friendly heart &longs;hares all
the &longs;ufferings of your Meriel, I will now continue
my narrative.

When Mr. Sutten appeared, he was greatly
&longs;urpri&longs;ed to &longs;ee me at Litchfield, and when
I told him of my vi&longs;it to Mr. Lee&longs;on, he appeared
very angry and &longs;aid, “with his good
will, I &longs;hould not pay a farthing, and at any
rate I &longs;hould not have the money, till I was
of age; for I might, if I attempted to extricate
my father from his pre&longs;ent difficulites,
&longs;oon be reduced to beggary, and leave myself
without the power of a&longs;&longs;i&longs;ting my mother;
who was far more de&longs;erving my affection
and duty.”

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“It is on her account, &longs;ir,” &longs;aid I, “that
I am thus anxious. Her happine&longs;s is bound
up with my father's, and while he is under
confinement &longs;he will be mi&longs;erable; be&longs;ides,
Mr. Sutten, &longs;he does not think I love her,
does not think me capable of doing a worthy
action. Oh! &longs;ir, give me the power to
convince her, that my own intere&longs;t and happiness
is of little value when put in competition
with her's.”

“My dear mi&longs;s Howard,” &longs;aid he, “you
mu&longs;t confe&longs;s appearances have been strangely
again&longs;t you. I will acknowledge I my&longs;elf
have had my doubts concerning the rectitude
of your heart.”

“Oh! I know,” &longs;aid I, “there is a fatal
my&longs;tery involves my conduct, a my&longs;tery
which I never can reveal.”

“Nor will I de&longs;ire it,” replied the humane
Mr. Sutten, “I &longs;ee at this moment &longs;uch
traits of genuine goodne&longs;s, &longs;uch proofs of
a mind, impre&longs;&longs;ed with a ju&longs;t &longs;en&longs;e of its duty,
that I &longs;hall always think you had &longs;ome very
ju&longs;t cau&longs;e for your pa&longs;t conduct, nor will
I believe it po&longs;&longs;ible for a heart capable of conceiving
&longs;uch noble, di&longs;intere&longs;ted re&longs;olutions,
to harbour inclinations derogatory to the
honour and dignity of a virtuous woman.”

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I thanked him for his good opinion, and
he proceeded: “You mu&longs;t con&longs;ider, Mi&longs;s
Howard, that you are young, very young;
you know but little of the world, of consequence
can form no ju&longs;t value of that independence,
which, believe me, can alone &longs;ecure
you friends. Beauty and merit, my dear
girl, are oftener a prejudice than a benefit to
the po&longs;e&longs;&longs;ors; it is an object of envy to your
own &longs;ex; and, &longs;orry I am to add, in general
excites no other ideas in the bo&longs;om of ours,
than to lead them to endeavour to vitiate tho&longs;e
principles they pretend to adore; let me intreat
you, therefore, to &longs;et a ju&longs;t value on that
independence, with which it has plea&longs;ed
heaven to ble&longs;s you; a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t your parents as
far as you can, without hurting your&longs;elf,
and remember, that to &longs;ecure the friend&longs;hip
of others you mu&longs;t not need their a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance.”

This, my dear Celia, was arguing like a
cold philo&longs;opher, and a man of the world;
but it was not &longs;peaking with the &longs;pirit of
chri&longs;tianity, or with the enthu&longs;ia&longs;m of a
heart that glows with benevolence to all its
fellow creatures. The dear le&longs;&longs;ons which I
imbibed at Bologne taught me to regard myself
but in a &longs;econdary light, when any thing
prai&longs;e-worthy was to be performed, and to
remember only the precepts of him who
taught us to do as we would be done by;

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and, like the good Samaritan, to pour oil
and wine into the wounds of our &longs;uffering fellow
creatures; but to proceed:

Mr. Sutten refu&longs;ed to advance a &longs;hilling,
and I was forced to return to my mother,
di&longs;appointed, dejected, and weary.

Two days after, an execution was &longs;ent to
Woodbine Cot; my poor mother and myself
were obliged to remove to Litchfield,
where we took a &longs;mall lodging near the hou&longs;e
where my father was, where we remained
till the e&longs;tate was &longs;old and all paid away to the
la&longs;t farthing, nor was even that enough to
an&longs;wer all the demands that were continually
pouring in from all quarters; be&longs;ides, when
the e&longs;tate came to be &longs;old, it was found &longs;o encumbered
with mortgages, &c. that it would
not &longs;ell for above half its value. When all was
&longs;ettled, and my father at liberty, it was determined
that we &longs;hould &longs;et forward to London,
where my father in&longs;i&longs;ted we could live
much cheaper than in the country, where
we were &longs;o well known. There was &longs;till
the intere&longs;t of my four thou&longs;and pounds,
which as it was at my own di&longs;po&longs;al, I determined
to devote to the &longs;upport of the family.
All our &longs;ervants were di&longs;charged, poor Deborah
too; you cannot think, Celia, what
I &longs;uffered on being &longs;eparated from this

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faithful woman. She offered to &longs;tay with us
without being paid; but my mother would
not con&longs;ent to reeicve an obligation from an
inferior. I thought the re&longs;olution &longs;avoured
of pride; but we all have our failings, and
perhaps pride in &longs;ome degree, is laudable.

On our arrival in town, we took a &longs;mall
lodging and hired a young woman to do the
mo&longs;t laborious part of our dome&longs;tic bu&longs;ine&longs;s;
the re&longs;t it is my province to perform; and,
believe me, I do it chearfully. It employs
my mind, prevents my taking melancholy
retro&longs;pects, and I think contributes to improve
both my health and &longs;pirits. We have
paid a vi&longs;it to my father's elde&longs;t &longs;i&longs;ter. She
is married to a coun&longs;ellor, who has made a
genteel independence by his profe&longs;&longs;ion. My
aunt is a woman who&longs;e character I do not
well know how to develope. She is in general
affable, conde&longs;cending, and chearful;
and in conver&longs;ation, gives evident proofs of
a genteel education, and a brilliant understanding;
but, withall is &longs;o tinctured with vanity,
and tho' upwards of forty, &longs;till possesses
that &longs;pirit of coquetry, that in a great measure
ob&longs;cures her good qualities. Her daughters,
He&longs;ter and Su&longs;an, have had, what is
termed a fa&longs;hionable education, that is, they
can daub a fan mount, jumble the keys of
the harp&longs;ichord, and jabber an unintelligible

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jargon, which they call French. They are
realy lovely girls. He&longs;ter, in particular,
&longs;eems calculated to in&longs;pire love and re&longs;pect,
wherever &longs;he appears. Su&longs;an is more volatile,
but, withall can make her&longs;elf extremely
agreeable. They are both &longs;poilt by the mother,
who, having taken it into her head,
that their beauty will certainly recommend
them to men of rank and fortune, is continually
filling the poor girls' minds with
that kind of vanity, and eager de&longs;ire of conquest,
that in general fails of the de&longs;ired
effect, and repels the admiration, which it
is de&longs;igned to attract. Their naturally good
di&longs;po&longs;itions are by the&longs;e means totally preverted,
and in&longs;tead of being the engaging,
innoecnt, unaffected girls, which nature
form'd them, they appear, in a mixed company,
a combination of pride, vanity, and
&longs;elf-conceit.

Mr. Mo&longs;op, their father, is haughty, distant,
and forbidding in his manner, po&longs;e&longs;&longs;es
a great deal, of what is called family pride:
has little feeling and le&longs;s good nature, yet
on the whole is deemed a re&longs;pectable character.
He is &longs;trictly hone&longs;t in his principles,
pays every one their due to the utmo&longs;t
farthing, but will not be&longs;tow the lea&longs;t trifle
in charity, becau&longs;e he con&longs;iders con&longs;tantly
paying the poor rate to be a &longs;ufficient

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discharge of that duty. The query with me,
is, whether he would pay that &longs;um yearly
if not obliged to it; if not, where is the
merit of paying it now. Oh! Celia, how
do I hate tho&longs;e luke-warm hearts. You
may remember I always &longs;hewed a di&longs;like to
the cool doctrines of philo&longs;ophy. I could
never have a good opinion of a per&longs;on who
regards every &longs;urrounding object with the
&longs;toical eye of apathy. I am &longs;ure they mu&longs;t
po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s hearts, rendered impenetrable by nature
to tho&longs;e fine feelings, which, tho' at &longs;ome
moments they may di&longs;tre&longs;s, in general elevate
and expand the &longs;oul. For my own part,
Celia, I am as weak as an infant, whenever
a &longs;cene of di&longs;tre&longs;s or happine&longs;s meets my eye,
I have a tear of &longs;ympathy for the one, and a
&longs;mile of gratulation for the other; and the
&longs;mile and the tear, mingle &longs;o &longs;weetly with
each other, that every faculty is harmonized
by the union, and I am at a lo&longs;s to tell which
&longs;en&longs;ation is the mo&longs;t exqui&longs;itely delightful.
Then let the unfeeling boa&longs;t the philo&longs;ophic
calmne&longs;s of their tempers. I will not scruple
to aver, that tho' they may e&longs;cape many
an acute pang, that wrings the heart of sensibility,
they know not what true plea&longs;ure is.
But I am &longs;trangely digre&longs;&longs;ing from my subject.
You will wonder perhaps, how I &longs;o
&longs;oon comprehended the character of my uncle's
family: believe me, Celia, it was not

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by my own penetration that I di&longs;covered
them. From my own ob&longs;ervations, I &longs;hould
have &longs;uppo&longs;ed Mr. Mo&longs;&longs;op an agreeable man,
his wife a charming, amiable woman, and
the two young ladies the &longs;weete&longs;t, mo&longs;t engaging
girls in the world; nay, at this very
moment, I feel &longs;o inclined to love the whole
family, that I think the di&longs;agreeable traits in
their characters have been exaggerated. It
was to a Mr. Rainsforth, that I was indebted
for this minute delineation of them. This
Mr. Rainsforth is an agreeable young man,
whom I have frequently &longs;een at my uncle's,
and at fir&longs;t thought he was partial to my
cou&longs;in He&longs;ter, but I find I was mi&longs;taken in
this &longs;uppo&longs;ition, as his intimacy in the family
proceeds from his having been &longs;chool-fellow
with young Mo&longs;&longs;op, whom I have as yet
&longs;een but little of.

Rainsforth is the &longs;on of a merchant, in
Plymouth. His mother died when he was
an infant, and his father has, within the&longs;e
few years, married a woman many years
younger than him&longs;elf, by whom he has a
young family. Frederic has a &longs;mall fortune
independent of his father, and is be&longs;ides a
lieutenant in the navy. My father &longs;eems
very partial to him; that, you will &longs;ay, is
no great recommendation; but I flatter myself,
Celia, this unhappy father begins to &longs;ee

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his errors, and will, in future atone for them.
I think, tho' our income is circum&longs;cribed,
and our &longs;ituation greatly altered, my dear
mother is much happier than I ever &longs;aw her.
I cannot boa&longs;t of much happine&longs;s my&longs;elf; remembrance,
painful rembrance, damps every
little plea&longs;ure or amu&longs;ement that is offered
to my notice; yet, when I look round me,
and behold many who are perhaps my superiors
in worth and virtue, peri&longs;hing for want
of the common nece&longs;&longs;aries of life; oppre&longs;&longs;ed
with &longs;ickne&longs;s; &longs;urrounded with children,
who look up to them for that &longs;upport, which
they have not to be&longs;tow: when I &longs;ee the&longs;e
things, my friend, I lift up my heart in humble
gratitude to that Providence, who has,
thro' life, given a portion into my hand, the
overplus of which may, in &longs;ome little degree,
&longs;erve to cheer the &longs;ons and daughters of misery.
You &longs;mile to hear me talk of having
any to &longs;pare from my little income. Oh!
my dear girl, had I but a &longs;hilling in my pocket,
I could not call it my own, if I &longs;aw a
fellow creature who&longs;e heart would be in the
lea&longs;t lightened by &longs;haring it with me.

My aunt has promi&longs;ed to take me to a play.
I am fond reading dramatic works, and form
great expectations of amu&longs;ement from &longs;eeing
a performance. I will certainly give you

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&longs;ome account of my entertainment whenever
I go. Till then, and ever, believe me
affectionately your's.