the anniversary of Mrs. Ambrose's birth and marriage both
in one. The gentry all round the neighbourhood are invited this time, on
some good news they have received from Mrs. Ambrose's brother, the
governor.

My mother promised the Colonel for me and herself, in my absence. I
would fain have excused myself to her; and the rather, as I had
exceptions on account of the day:* but she is almost as young as her
daughter; and thinking it not so well to go without me, she told me. And
having had a few sparring blows with each other very lately, I think I
must comply. For I don't love jingling when I can help it; though I
seldom make it my study to avoid the occasion, when it offers of itself.
I don't know, if either were not a little afraid of the other, whether it
would be possible that we could live together:--I, all my father!--My
mamma--What?--All my mother--What else should I say?

* The 24th of July, Miss Clarissa Harlowe's birth-day.

O my dear, how many things happen in this life to give us displeasure!
How few to give us joy!--I am sure I shall have none on this occasion;
since the true partner of my heart, the principal of the one soul, that
it used to be said, animated the pair of friends, as we were called; you,
my dear, [who used to irradiate every circle you set your foot into, and
to give me real significance in a second place to yourself,] cannot be
there!--One hour of your company, my ever instructive friend, [I thirst
for it!] how infinitely preferable would it be to me to all the
diversions and amusements with which our sex are generally most delighted
--Adieu, my dear!

A. HOWE.

LETTER XLI

MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE
SUNDAY, JULY 23.

What pain, my dearest friend, does your kind solicitude for my welfare
give me! How much more binding and tender are the ties of pure
friendship, and the union of like minds, than the ties of nature! Well
might the sweet-singer of Israel, when he was carrying to the utmost
extent the praises of the friendship between him and his beloved friend,
say, that the love of Jonathan to him was wonderful; that it surpassed
the love of women! What an exalted idea does it give of the soul of
Jonathan, sweetly attempered for the sacred band, if we may suppose it
but equal to that of my Anna Howe for her fallen Clarissa?--But, although
I can glory in your kind love for me, think, my dear, what concern must
fill a mind, not ungenerous, when the obligation