Never trust me if I had not a suspicion from the first that ’twas that ill-looked fellow B——­ who made that story Mr. D——­ told you.  That which gave me the first inclination to that belief was the circumstance you told me of their seeing me at St. Gregory’s.  For I remembered to have seen B——­ there, and had occasion to look up into the gallery where he sat, to answer a very civil salute given me from thence by Mr. Freeman, and saw B——­ in a great whisper with another that sat next him, and pointing to me.  If Mr. D——­ had not been so nice in discovering his name, you would quickly have been cured of your jealousy.  Never believe I have a servant that I do not tell you of as soon as I know it myself.  As, for example, my brother Peyton has sent to me, for a countryman of his, Sir John Tufton,—­he married one of my Lady Wotton’s heirs, who is lately dead,—­and to invite me to think of it.  Besides his person and his fortune, without exception, he tells me what an excellent husband he was to this lady that’s dead, who was but a crooked, ill-favoured woman, only she brought him L1500 a year.  I tell him I believe, Sir John Tufton could be content, I were so too upon the same terms.  But his loving his first wife can be no argument to persuade me; for if he had loved her as he ought to do, I cannot hope he should love another so well as I expect anybody should that has me; and if he did not love her, I have less to expect he should me.  I do not care for a divided heart; I must have all or none, at least the first place in it.  Poor James, I have broke his.  He says ’twould pity you to hear what sad complaints he makes; and, but that he has not the heart to hang himself, he would be very well contented to be out of the world.

That house of your cousin R——­ is fatal to physicians.  Dr. Smith that took it is dead already; but maybe this was before you went, and so is no news to you.  I shall be sending you all I hear; which, though it cannot be much, living as I do, yet it may be more than ventures into Ireland.  I would have you diverted, whilst you are there, as much as possible; but not enough to tempt you to stay one minute longer than your father and your business obliges you.  Alas!  I have already repented all my share in your journey, and begin to find I am not half so valiant as I sometimes take myself to be.  The knowledge that our interests are the same, and that I shall be happy or unfortunate in your person as much or more than in my own, does not give me that confidence you speak of.  It rather increases my doubts, and I durst trust your fortune alone, rather than now that mine is joined with it.  Yet I will hope yours may be so good as to overcome the ill of mine, and shall endeavour to mend my own all I can by striving to deserve it, maybe, better.  My dearest, will you pardon me that I am forced to leave you so soon?  The next shall be longer, though I can never be more than I am

Yours.