Yet, to be first an eloper from my friends to him, as the world supposes; and now to be so from him [to whom I know not!] how hard to one who ever endeavoured to shun intricate paths!  But he must certainly have views in quarrelling with me thus, which he dare not own!—­Yet what can they be?—­ I am terrified but to think of what they may be!

Let me but get from him!—­As to my reputation, if I leave him—­that is already too much wounded for me, now, to be careful about any thing, but how to act so as that my own heart shall not reproach me.  As to the world’s censure, I must be content to suffer that—­an unhappy composition, however.—­What a wreck have my fortunes suffered, to be obliged to throw overboard so many valuables, to preserve, indeed, the only valuable!—­A composition that once it would have half broken my heart to think there would have been the least danger that I should be obliged to submit to.

You, my dear, could not be a stranger to my most secret failings, although you would not tell me of them.  What a pride did I take in the applause of every one!—­What a pride even in supposing I had not that pride!—­Which concealed itself from my unexamining heart under the specious veil of humility, doubling the merit to myself by the supposed, and indeed imputed, gracefulness in the manner of conferring benefits, when I had not a single merit in what I did, vastly overpaid by the pleasure of doing some little good, and impelled, as I may say, by talents given me—­for what!—­Not to be proud of.

So, desirous, in short, to be considered as an example!  A vanity which my partial admirers put into my head!—­And so secure in my own virtue!

I am punished enough, enough mortified, for this my vanity—­I hope, enough, if it so please the all-gracious inflictor:  since now, I verily think, I more despise myself for my presumptuous self-security, as well as vanity, than ever I secretly vaunted myself on my good inclinations:  secretly, I say, however; for, indeed, I had not given myself leisure to reflect, till I was thus mortified, how very imperfect I was; nor how much truth there is in what divines tell us, that we sin in our best performances.

But I was very young.—­But here let me watch over myself again:  for in those four words, I was very young, is there not a palliation couched, that were enough to take all efficacy from the discovery and confession?

What strange imperfect beings!—­but self here, which is at the bottom of all we do, and of all we wish, is the grand misleader.

I will not apologize to you, my dear, for these grave reflections.  Is it not enough to make the unhappy creature look into herself, and endeavour to detect herself, who, from such a high reputation, left to proud and presumptuous self, should by one thoughtless step, be brought to the dreadful situation I am in?

Let me, however, look forward:  to despond would be to add sin to sin.  And whom have I to raise me up, whom to comfort me, if I desert myself?—­ Thou, O Father, who, I hope, hast not yet deserted, hast not yet cursed me!—­For I am thine!—­It is fit that mediation should supply the rest.—­