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188

My dear child! pardon the liberty: I still feel for you the affection of a dry nurse: what is the matter with you?

Still the old grievance, my dear Hopkins; my aunt trying to make up a match for me.

Ay, poor good lady: she can't leave that alone for the soul of her. She would make up matches at home for every country girl in the neighbourhood if she could. I even believe, if I had not been once married already, which she thinks sufficient for the credit of any woman, she would still be for trying to make up a match for my old crazy bones, God help me!—But don't let it vex you thus, my dear ma'am: I have brought you something that will please and divert you.

What is that, Hopkins?

A letter from my little boy whom my lady puts to school, written with his own hand, dear little