him. My heart throbs not after him. I glow not, but with indignation
against myself for having given room for such an imputation. But you
must not, my dearest friend, construe common gratitude into love. I
cannot bear that you should. But if ever I should have the misfortune
to think it love, I promise you upon my word, which is the same as
upon my honour, that I will acquaint you with it.

You bid me to tell you very speedily, and by the new-found expedient,
that I am not displeased with you for your agreeable raillery: I
dispatch this therefore immediately, postponing to my next the account
of the inducements which my friends have to promote with so much
earnestness the address of Mr. Solmes.

Be satisfied, my dear, mean time, that I am not displeased with you:
indeed I am not. On the contrary, I give you my hearty thanks for
your friendly premonitions; and I charge you (as I have often done)
that if you observe any thing in me so very faulty as would require
from you to others in my behalf the palliation of friendly and partial
love, you acquaint me with it: for methinks I would so conduct myself
as not to give reason even for an adversary to censure me; and how
shall so weak and so young a creature avoid the censure of such, if my
friend will not hold a looking-glass before me to let me see my
imperfections?

Judge me, then, my dear, as any indifferent person (knowing what you
know of me) would do. I may be at first be a little pained; may glow
a little perhaps to be found less worthy of your friendship than I
wish to be; but assure yourself, that your kind correction will give
me reflection that shall amend me. If it do not, you will have a
fault to accuse me of, that will be utterly inexcusable: a fault, let