of was not suited to my fortune.  You must confess it; and that my kindness for you is beyond example, all these troubles are persecutions that make me weary of the world before my time, and lessen the concernment I have for you, and instead of being persuaded as they would have me by their malicious stories, methinks I am obliged to love you more in recompense of all the injuries they have done you upon my score.  I shall need nothing but my own heart to fortify me in this resolution, and desire nothing in return of it but that your care of yourself may answer to that which I shall always have for your interests.

I received your letter of the 10th of this month; and I hope this will find you at your journey’s end.  In earnest, I have pitied your sister extremely, and can easily apprehend how troublesome this voyage must needs be to her, by knowing what others have been to me; yet, pray assure her I would not scruple at undertaking it myself to gain such an acquaintance, and would go much farther than where (I hope) she now is to serve her.  I am afraid she will not think me a fit person to choose for a friend, that cannot agree with my own brother; but I must trust you to tell my story for me, and will hope for a better character from you than he gives me; who, lest I should complain, resolves to prevent me, and possess my friends first that he is the injured party.  I never magnified my patience to you, but I begin to have a good opinion on’t since this trial; yet, perhaps, I have no reason, and it may be as well a want of sense in me as of passion; however, you will not be displeased to know that I can endure all that he or anybody else can say, and that setting aside my father’s death and your absence, I make nothing an affliction to me, though I am sorry, I confess, to see myself forc’d to keep such distances with one of his relations, because religion and nature and the custom of world teaches otherwise.  I see I shall not be able to satisfy you in this how I shall dispose of myself, for my brother is not come; the next will certainly tell you.  In the meantime, I expect with great impatience to hear of your safe arrival.  ’Twas a disappointment that you missed those fair winds.  I pleased myself extremely with a belief that they had made your voyage rather a diversion than a trouble, either to you or your company, but I hope your passage was as happy, if not as sudden, as you expected it; let me hear often from you, and long letters.  I do not count this so.  Have no apprehensions from me, but all the care of yourself that you please.  My melancholy has no anger in it; and I believe the accidents of my life would work more upon any other than they do upon me, whose humour is always more prepared for them than that of gayer persons.  I hear nothing that is worth your knowing; when I do, you shall know it.  Tell me if there’s anything I can do for you, and assure yourself I am perfectly

Yours.

Letter 56.—­Temple has reached Dublin at last, and begins to write from there.  This letter also is dated, and from this time forth there is less trouble in arranging the letters in order of date, as many of them have, at least, the day of the month, if nothing more.