you

which to my certain knowledge have been said without any design of affronting her, and that merely because some other accident has put her out of humour. If should maintain that you had some reason to be displeased with the person to whom you made such a speech (which, though unknown, was abundantly sufficient to justify the change in your behaviour, which you intimated yesterday morning), the answer is obvious; a reason which is unknown to any one in the company is, to such a person, no reason at all, and ill humour founded on such a reason will appear to him utterly irrational, and consequently, is not likely to do him good, unless it be doing good, to lessen his esteem for a person whom it is hardly possible to admire within moderate limits.

I have further observed some perverse moments, in which you are so exceedingly prone to contradict those with whom you are at all displeased, though on the most trifling occasion, that you will in plain terms rather contradict yourself than fail of paying them that compliment!

When you are censuring the faults of those whom you most sincerely love, you are apt to treat them with too great severity, and sometimes with an air of contempt, which leaves a sting behind it for a considerable time. To show people that you are displeased with them may be prudent, for it is your happiness to see many very agreeable persons, who have no manner of dependence upon you, hurt, merely by your saying that you are displeased; but

to show them, in any instance, that you despise them, is carrying the matter to an outrageous extremity, and may probably throw them into such despair as may prevent their taking proper measures for their amendment. What you said to dear Kitty about my offers of matrimony was a most grating instance of this, and not to be remembered without something of indignation, even while my heart is overflowing, as it now is, with the tenderest sentiments of friendship towards you. It was to a surprising degree hasty, and terribly spiteful and unjust, and the very recollection of it makes the veins of my forehead swell so high that I resolve never to trust myself to mention it again; and I should be much happier if I could engage never to think of it.

The last thing, madam, which I have to mention is, that you seem so prejudiced in favour of your own notions, that it is one of the most difficult things in the world to fix a conviction upon you, or to procure an acknowledgment that you have been mistaken; nor do you seem to take it very kindly when people interest themselves in your affairs so far as to intimate that they think you have in any instance been to blame.

I heartily wish that this letter may not furnish a new proof of the justice of these suggestions! If it should, I beg that you will reflect upon your rising displeasure; for in short, madam, I will not enter into a dispute with you. If I were, I do verily believe that the subtlety and acuteness of your wit would puzzle me upon many of these heads,

although it would be a poor excuse. Rather, madam, be persuaded to look into your own heart, as one that would impartially examine, and by the amendment of an error triumph over herself; and to make you the more suspicious and impartial in the examination, I would further remark, that these are not merely my own desultory reflections, (which, with the opinion you have of my incapacity of judging people's characters, you might perhaps despise) but that several persons whom you acknowledge to have a great deal of good sense, and who most intimately know you, and most sincerely love you, are entirely of my opinion as to every one of these matters, and have themselves pointed out many instances which the excessive fondness of my friendship might otherwise have overlooked. However, I hope, madam, that whatever you may think of the justice of this censure, you will have no inclination to doubt its kindness. It would be an injury to your good sense, to question whether you had seen, that, in the midst of all other failings and mistakes I have been chargeable with in respect to others, I have always treated Mrs. Jennings with the tenderness of a brother, and the respect of a son; or, if in any degree I have failed in what I thought the most exact decorum, that it has been owing to an uncommon degree of esteem which, in conjunction with the natural warmth of my temper, has made every instance of unkindness or slight from her not only grievous but intolerable. My entire affection for you is above being expressed by any of those little compliments which in the sin

cerity of my heart I address to others. Let it suffice to say, that I acknowledge your society and friendship as one of the greatest comforts of my life, and that every thing that is mine is as entirely at your service as if it were your own; and that every thing that yours is as dear to me as if it were mine. You

is

are the only person in the world to whom I write "dearest madam," and when I have written that-I need write no more.

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

DEAR MADAM,

TO MRS. WINGATE.

January 18, 1726. You were so kind yesterday morning as to tell me of some things which you thought amiss in my behaviour, many of which I own were very just, as upon a little reflection I plainly perceived, and am willing to believe the same of some others where I am more in the dark, and can as yet recollect nothing in my behaviour that could lay a just foundation for such charges.

In most of the expressions of friendship it is my misfortune to rank inferior to yourself, but in this I am resolved to keep pace with you; and though I may not be able to find out so many defects in your character as you have found in mine, I am determined to do my best, and to tell you all that I know;

to proceed any further would be calumny and not friendship.

In order to take off that air of rudeness which might otherwise appear in presuming to find fault with you, I must do myself the justice to own that I steadily esteem your character to be far superior to mine, in many important instances; and that, as to the infirmities of temper, which I am going to enumerate, I find them almost every one in myself, among many others from which you are entirely

free.

With this precaution I will go on to the enumeration of your faults, which I hope will neither be defective nor extravagant in any considerable instance, for I have endeavoured to recollect what I found out when I have been angry, and therefore more quick-sighted; but I have judged of them, and do now mention them to you, in the most sedate composure and harmony of mind, and with a heart full of the tenderest sentiments of friendship.

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The most considerable fault of my good friend, and that to which most of the rest are reducible, is vanity. Few people in the world have so many fair excuses for it as yourself; and yet, what is upon that very account the more surprising, few discover every circumstance of life. It even constantly appears when we are drinking chocolate, and has spoiled the pleasure of many a dish, at least to me, if not to the rest of the company; though after all, whether my uneasiness arose from good sense, or a severity towards pride, is what I am to this moment