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This brother of mine is a &longs;ad lad. He
will not be content to remain where
he has been placed, but has taken it into
his wi&longs;e head that he mu&longs;t go to &longs;ea; nothing
el&longs;e will &longs;uit him, he cannot, he &longs;ays,
be confined to the drudgery of a countinghouse,
where a per&longs;on may toil all their lives
and ri&longs;e to nothing above mediocrity. He
will go to &longs;ea, where, with one bold pu&longs;h, it
often happens that a man gains both honour
and fortune. The lad &longs;eems to be po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed
of the &longs;pirit of ambition, yet not that laudable
ambition which acts as a &longs;timulus to
actions great and prai&longs;e worthy. It is power
and wealth he aims at, and be the &longs;teps
ever &longs;o dirty, by which he mu&longs;t arrive at
the de&longs;ired eminence, I much fear he would
not he&longs;itate to wade thro' thick and thin.

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However, as that is his fixed determination,
I mu&longs;t e'en be content with the lo&longs;t of the
apprentice fee, tho' here is a fre&longs;h &longs;ource of
expen&longs;e in fitting him out as a mid&longs;hipman,
for in that &longs;ituation I find he can be admitted
on board the &longs;hip where Rainsforth
is lieutenant. I wi&longs;h to my &longs;oul an intimate
acquaintance with this worthy man, may
be of &longs;ervice to him, for we often in&longs;en&longs;ibly
imbibe the &longs;entiments of tho&longs;e with whom
we a&longs;&longs;ociate.

My father, I fear, is running into his old
errors; he has formed an acquaintance with
a Mr. Dell, which in my opinion bodes no
good. Dell appears much of the gentleman
in his manner, but young Mo&longs;&longs;op &longs;ays he is
a pro&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed gambler, and I am rather inclined
to believe this a&longs;&longs;ertion, as my father is
frequently out with him till three or four in
the morning, and has drained us &longs;o of money,
that we have not a &longs;ingle guinea for
hou&longs;e expences; this will occa&longs;ion our getting
into debt, and I am afraid my father
has already borrowed money on the &longs;trength
of my promi&longs;e, in regard to my fortune; if
&longs;o all my endeavours to pre&longs;erve my mother
from want will be ineffectual. This Dell
has a wife, whom he once brought to &longs;pend
an afternoon with us; I do not like her;
there was &longs;omething in her dre&longs;s and

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manner, bold, forward and di&longs;gu&longs;ting; &longs;he has
been pretty, and is vain enough to think &longs;he
is &longs;o now. My mother does not admire her
any more than my&longs;elf, and only that &longs;he
thinks it would highly di&longs;oblige my father,
&longs;he would by no means either recieve or return
her vi&longs;its.

Another &longs;ource of unhappine&longs;s to this
dear &longs;uffering woman is my father's giving
way to a habit of drinking, for he is almo&longs;t
continually intoxicated, and &longs;o extremely
captious and ill natured that it is next to impossible
to &longs;ay or do any thing to plea&longs;e him.
Poor dear mother how my heart bleeds for
your afflictions; how many years have you
pa&longs;t wherein you can &longs;carcely &longs;ay, you have
&longs;een one happy hour; and could I, but lead
you to repo&longs;e your &longs;orrows on the bo&longs;om of
your child! but no, you think that child
unworthy of your love, unworthy your confidence;
and &longs;he dares not clear her&longs;elf, le&longs;t
by endeavouring to remove one &longs;orrow from
your heart, &longs;he &longs;hould throw another on it
that would cru&longs;h you with its weight.

I have heard from Rainsforth but once
&longs;ince the fleet &longs;ailed. Oh! Celia, &longs;hould he
one day afflict my heart, by har&longs;hne&longs;s, cruelty
or infidelity; ah! my friend, if the
thought thus wrings my bo&longs;om, what would

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the reality do; and yet, I would endeavour
to bear it with the meekne&longs;s of a wife, and
the fortitude of a chri&longs;tian; but me thinks I
would wi&longs;h to &longs;ink at once under the dreadful
certainty; doubt and &longs;u&longs;picion would
torture me to the very utmo&longs;t of my &longs;trength
to bear, but to be convinced I had out lived
his affection, mu&longs;t, I am convinced, be instant
death or madne&longs;s.

My letters have now nothing intere&longs;ting
in them; Indeed, Celia, I begin to think
every thing in&longs;ipid and tire&longs;ome, that is not
concerning Rainsforth; even reading no
more amu&longs;es. If I read of a worthy character,
&longs;uch a one I cry is my Frederic; then
I drop the book to mu&longs;e upon his virtues,
and if I take up my pen I can write but an
invocation to heaven for his &longs;afety. The only
relief I find is in con&longs;tant employment,
and therefore, I &longs;eldom pa&longs;s an idle hour,
my needle, my pencil, and my dome&longs;tic concerns,
plea&longs;ingly variegate the &longs;cene, and
prevent my complaining of la&longs;&longs;itude. I go
out but little, and &longs;ee but few vi&longs;itors, my
cou&longs;ins indeed frequently call, but as I do
not mix in the &longs;ame gay circles they do, I
can join but little in their conver&longs;ation; they
tell me many lively anecdotes that amu&longs;e
me; I li&longs;ten to their account of a ball, a
concert, or any other fa&longs;hionable amu&longs;ement

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with a &longs;mile, becau&longs;e it gives me plea&longs;ure to
&longs;ee them happy. My mother &longs;ays they give
me the&longs;e accounts only to mortify me; if
&longs;o, they greatly mi&longs;s their aim; I feel no inclination
to mix in the giddy throng of the
votaries to plea&longs;ure. Nature never de&longs;igned
me for dre&longs;s, bu&longs;tle, and parade; my highest
wi&longs;h is to &longs;teal thro' life unnoticed, but
by the friends I love, and to die before I
know their lo&longs;s or the privation of their esteem.
Adieu, my Celia. In your prayers remember
the beloved of your

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