Lovel.  If you favour me, Colonel, with the d——­d letter of that fellow Brand for a day or two, you will oblige me.

Col.  I will.  But remember, the man is a parson, Mr. Lovelace; an innocent one too, they say.  Else I had been at him before now.  And these college novices, who think they know every thing in their cloisters, and that all learning lies in books, make dismal figures when they come into the world among men and women.

Lord M. Brand!  Brand!  It should have been Firebrand, I think in my conscience!

Thus ended this doughty conference.

I cannot say, Jack, but I am greatly taken with Col.  Morden.  He is brave and generous, and knows the world; and then his contempt of the parsons is a certain sign that he is one of us.

We parted with great civility:  Lord M. (not a little pleased that we did, and as greatly taken with Colonel) repeated his wish, after the Colonel was gone, that he had arrived in time to save the lady, if that would have done it.

I wish so too.  For by my soul, Jack, I am every day more and more uneasy about her.  But I hope she is not so ill as I am told she is.

I have made Charlotte transcribe the letter of this Firebrand, as my Lord calls him; and will enclose her copy of it.  All thy phlegm I know will be roused into vengeance when thou readest it.

I know not what to advise as to showing it to the lady.  Yet, perhaps, she will be able to reap more satisfaction than concern from it, knowing her own innocence; in that it will give her to hope that her friends’ treatment of her is owing as much to misrepresentation as to their own natural implacableness.  Such a mind as her’s, I know, would be glad to find out the shadow of a reason for the shocking letters the Colonel says they have sent her, and for their proposal to her of going to some one of the colonies [confound them all—­but, if I begin to curse, I shall never have done]—­Then it may put her upon such a defence as she might be glad of an opportunity to make, and to shame them for their monstrous credulity—­but this I leave to thy own fat-headed prudence—­Only it vexes me to the heart, that even scandal and calumny should dare to surmise the bare possibility of any man sharing the favours of a woman, whom now methinks I could worship with a veneration due only to a divinity.

Charlotte and her sister could not help weeping at the base aspersion:  When, when, said Patty, lifting up her hands, will this sweet lady’s sufferings be at an end?—­O cousin Lovelace!—­

And thus am I blamed for every one’s faults!—­When her brutal father curses her, it is I. I upbraid her with her severe mother.  The implacableness of her stupid uncles is all mine.  The virulence of her brother, and the spite of her sister, are entirely owing to me.  The letter of this rascal Brand is of my writing—­O Jack, what a wretch is thy Lovelace!

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