What will become of your poor Anna Howe! I see by your writing, as well
as read by your own account, (which, were you not very, very ill, you
would have touched more tenderly,) how it is with you! Why have I thus
long delayed to attend you! Could I think, that the comfortings of a
faithful friend were as nothing to a gentle mind in distress, that I
could be prevailed upon to forbear visiting you so much as once in all
this time! I, as well as every body else, to desert and abandon my dear
creature to strangers! What will become of you, if you be as bad as my
apprehensions make you!
I will set out this moment, little as the encouragement is that you give
me to do so! My mother is willing I should! Why, O why was she not
before willing?
Yet she persuades me too, (lest I should be fatally affected were I to
find my fears too well justified,) to wait the return of this messenger,
who rides our swiftest horse.--God speed him with good news to me--One
line from your hand by him!--Send me but one line to bid me attend you!
I will set out the moment, the very moment I receive it. I am now
actually ready to do so! And if you love me, as I love you, the sight
of me will revive you to my hopes.--But why, why, when I can think this,
did I not go up sooner!
Blessed Heaven! deny not to my prayers, my friend, my admonisher, my
adviser, at a time so critical to myself.
But methinks, your style and sentiments are too well connected, too
full of life and vigour, to give cause for so much despair as thy
staggering pen seems to forbode.
I am sorry I was not at home, [I must add thus much, though the servant
is ready mounted at the door,] when Mr. Belford's servant came with your
affecting letter. I was at Miss Lloyd's. My mamma sent it to me--and I
came home that instant. But he was gone: he would not stay, it seems.
Yet I wanted to ask him an hundred thousand questions. But why delay I
thus my messenger? I have a multitude of things to say to you--to advise
with you about!--You shall direct me in every thing. I will obey the
holding up of your finger. But, if you leave me--what is the world, or
any thing in it, to your