I have somewhere read that wonder is the child of ignorance; it was fortunate for me that I recollected this sage remark, for I was in danger of oversetting it, by wondering without being ignorant. Have I ever yet seen Mr. Hardcastle act like a wise and prudent man during my whole life, except in one melancholy instance? And yet, Lucy, the _folly_ and _extravagance_ of his letter to Captain Flint produced so sudden an impression of surprise on my mind, that experience was confounded; and I exclaimed to Mrs. Allen, "Who could have believed _this_, even of Mr. Hardcastle!" On reflecting more deliberately on this proof of his inveterate opposition to all that is _proper_ and _suitable_, I find however a consistency in his eccentricities, which might have secured me from _wondering_. After having laboured in meliorating a stubborn and unfruitful soil, he has taken the fancy to shew his skill in the flower garden, and to please his taste by cultivating the sweeter blossoms of a more genial spring, and a more productive mould. Peace be with him! His work is worthy of his hand! Under his culture will Mary Howard shed her mild fragrance around, and, secure from nipping colds or wintry blasts, she will, with, amaranthine bloom, cheer and delight his bosom! And you, my Lucy, "will be cheered by a companion your friend loves." These are your words. What shall I say to you in return? _Nothing._ Let Mary speak my thanks, whilst I bless Heaven for permitting me to be the means of sheltering innocence, and communicating to others the happiness I have enjoyed. I must nevertheless check my gratitude, in order to tell you, and this _unaccountable_ Mr. Hardcastle, that I mean in future, to decline the honour of being the bearer of letters, which turn honest people's heads giddy. I am aware, that my own would not better sustain me, on the sight of _some_ signed Hardcastle, than the poor captain's has sustained him; this, however, escaped your good father's consideration, so let it pass; whilst I proceed to inform you, that "gold may be bought too dearly," and that my nerves are not strong enough for _heavenly delights_. We are, however, somewhat more settled into mortal cares; and the captain, I presume, will, in his letter, find room to tell you when you may look for your guests. We have now something else to _do_; and which is _doing_ with April faces. Mary is so busy that she does nothing. I am asked over and over again, "whether Miss Hardcastle will not think she dresses too much for a young creature in her condition of fortune; whether, I think Miss Hardcastle will not find her aukward for her age." Then comes hope, to dispel her doubts and fears. "If she should please, if Miss Hardcastle should take a fancy to her as I had done, how happy would be her lot! Her dear uncle's heart would be at rest, and she in a course of improvement!" Why do I write all this to you? Alas! I cannot impose on you. It is not