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Proceed my friend in your career. I cannot follow you. My Ambition
is no more. The Situation which I have just described is not my present
situation; but what would I not do to facilitate the progress of my
friend. What mighty effects might not be produced by the Union of
yourself and Wilkins and me, in the prosecution of any laudable disign
How would every obstacle vanish before our united efforts? What various
and cogent motives of perseverance would not be furnished by our
combination?—

What consolation does my vanity recieve from your requiring an
assurance that I will not purposely estrange myself from Wilkins in
order to preserve his affection for you unimpaired? This demand gives me,
at the same time, pleasure and uneasiness. I am pleased on finding
that you think me capable of such an act of generosity, and believe me
likely to acquire the esteem of Wilkins in so great a degree as to render
this act of generosity necessary, but, my dear friend, I have depicted only my
own feelings [gap] with regard to Wilkins, in my former letter. I do not
flatter myself that opportunity will ever be afforded me of acting
thus magnanimously. My character is the strangest and most inexpliabl
in the world. A compound of contradictions, of humility and vanity.
I am unworthy of being the friend of either yourself or Wilkins.
When past scenes are excluded from my mind, When the names of my
living friends (B. & W.) are continually vibrating in my ears, when I
think "To day I shall see them," I am happy in the consciousness of possessing
a friend, but when busy memory retreaves her Authority, and banishes
the usurping present, when I recollect the scenes of former friendship, my
spirrits are instantly dejected, gloomy sadness, silent astonishment overwhelm
me. I see, yes, I feel than I am Solitary. I love my William; but Hope!
delusive whisperer! forbear to soothe me with the prospect of reciprocal
affection !—. What a woman, what a child am I! I despise myself.


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Wilkins pities me. He knows that his company is necessary to my happiness
In consequence he declares himself my friend. But has he not a
previous attachment? Has he not already selected his friend? His bosom
has already recieved its tenant. I cannot hope to find a place in it;
but if I am admitted, the former inhabitant must be excluded. Shall I rob
Bringhurst of his friend? No; never will I act so basely and atrociously.
What affection can Wilkins have for me? I am never sought by him. It is I
that hunt his footsteps; That weary him by my tedious, importunate &
unseasonable visits. But it is time to pursue a different conduct. They are
friends. Let them still continue to be so. Let me not be the means of disuniting
them. No, my friend is dead. I have never hitherto and shall never hereafter
find another."

Thus have I often reasoned formerly, and, to confess the truth, I reason
nearly in the same manner at present: What avail the precepts of reason? The
deductions of experience? W. will never love me as I love him. Where is that
exquisite conformity, of Souls? which constitutes the bond of friendship? Which blends
two beings? His situation is that of a lady who has two lovers. [gap] She becomes acquainte
with them at different times, and her affections are ingaged to one, before she knows
the other, who, however, is equally enamoured of her, but he sees the impossibility
of supplanting his rival and, if it were possible, his generosity would not suffer
him to attempt it, but he cannot cease to love her. This, my friend, is the
predicament in which I, at present, stand. Are not then the assurances which you
demand superfluous? Yet I have no objection to comply with your request. All my
objections have vanished at the formidable consequences with which you menace
me on my refusal to complyance. It would be imprudent to make use of those
means in order to preserve your union, by which it would be soonest and
most effectually destroyed. And yet why should ^{‸ I} be affrighted from the perfor=
=mance of my duty? I will, my dear friend, give you the solemn assurances which
you demand, and promise that I will not by coldness or by any art whatever
attempt to lessen W___'s regard for me. And why? For no other reason than because
it is impossible for me, by honest means, to supplant you in his friendship


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because Generosity will never demand the observance of this promise. But you also
require me to promise you that I will not Sinistrously endeavour to raise
you in the esteem of Wilkins. To give you more than your due, and encrease his
love or admiration for you by false assertions and hypocritical pretences. All
Such attempts, my friend, would necessarily be [gap]ineffectual, should I ever ^{‸ be}, induced
to make them, but I hope you do not think me capable of using such
unworthy and degrading artifices.

You cannot doubt that I was highly pleased with the interest which you
seem to have taken in the tale of Julius, however imperfectly and uncircum=
=stantially related. I will not despair of procuring ^{‸ for} you the original performanc
The Story of Julius naturally divides itself into two parts. The second part
beginning at the Sickness of my hero, at a Glamorganshire village
I have already written; but the first part, which would commence at Julius
return from the Continent, and his arrival in Cumberland, and occupy the
space of Nine Months, is not yet composed. Whenever I shall have liesure
I will complete the plan. I have already delineated a sketch of this
performance. It is in the epistolary style also. I have formed a list of all
the letters of which it is to consist, their dates, the parties to them, their length
and the topics of which they are to treat. The first part, if written
according to this plan, and nothing but time is necessary ^wanting to the composition
would be equal in extent to twenty duodecima volumes. It would be
a most ^{‸ delightful} avocation, would quiet all my apprehensions and soothe all my
cares — I will shew this list if you have any inclination to see it.

C. B. B.

You tell me to shew to WWW. no letter of yours in which he is applauded
Your command shall be religiously obeyed, but I do not exact the same
concealment from you. I should always write to you as I would write to
him, and scorn to flatter or disemble. Besides my praise, (which surely
is never more than he deserves.) is generally mingled with censure,
a knowledge of which may not be unprofitable to him. Shew him all
that I write, if he request it, or it be agreable to yourself.