London, February 23. Indeed, my dear and ever indulgent aunt Selby, you have given me pain; and yet I am very ungrateful, I believe, to say so: but if I feel the pain (though perhaps I ought not) should I not own it?

What circumstances, what situation, am I in, ma-dam, that I cannot be mistress of myself? That shall turn my uncle’s half-feared, though always agreea-ble, raillery into pity for me?

“Over head and ears in the passion” — “I to be on the hoping side; the gentleman on the triumphant” — “It is impossible for you, my friends, to be aforehand with my inclinations” — “A beginning love to be mentioned, in which one is willing to conceal one’s self from one’s self!” Fires, flames, blazes, to follow! — Gratitude and love to be spoken of as synonymous terms — Ah! my dear aunt, how could you let my uncle write such a letter, and then copy it, and send it to me as yours?

And yet some very tender strokes are in it, that no man, that hardly anybody but you among women, could write.

But what do you do, madam, when you tell your Harriet of your own prepossessions in favour of a man who, as you thought, had before in my eye too many advantages? Indeed you should have taken care not to let me know, that his great qualities had impressed you all so deeply: and my grandmamma to be so very apprehensive too for the entangled girl I Hopeless passion, said she? Entangled in a hopeless passion! O let me die before this shall be deserved to be said of your Harriet!

Then again rises to your pen, smothering and escaped sparks; and I am desired to hurry myself to get cold water to quench the flame — Dear, dear madam, what images are here? And applied — To whom? — And by whom? — Have I written any-thing so very blazing? — Surely I have not. But you should not say you will all forgive me, if this be my sad situation. You should not say, how much you are your — selves, all of you, in love with this excellent man; and talk of Mr. Dawson, and of what he says of him: but you should have told me, that if I suffer my gra-titude to grow into love, you will never forgive me; then should I have had a call of duty to check or controul a passion, that you were afraid could not be

Well, and there is no way left for me, it seems, but to fly for it! To hurry away to Northampton-shire, and either to begin a new treaty with Lord D. or to give hope to an old lover. Poor Harriet Byron! And is it indeed so bad with thee? And does thy aunt Selby think it is?